









'/>;is 




Class IL-^_^5A/_ 



Knnlc.Ff (£' 



5^ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



OH ERIN MY HOME 

AND OTHER POEMS 

By FLORENCE KELLETT 



PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS • SAN FRANCISCO 



j c? I r 



COPYRIGHT. 1916 

By FLORENCE KELLETT 

SAN FRANCISCO 

Entered at StationetB' Hall, London 



«e. 



©CI.A4:31887 

JUL 17 1916 



:^ TO 

LOVERS OF IRELAND 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 



Ireland 3 

Oh Erin, My Home 4 

To the Land of the Harp 6 

An Irish Immigrant 8 

There's a Grave in the Green Sod lo 

I Dreamt and in My Dreams I2 

My Cabin Home 14 



OH ERIN MY HOME 



IRELAND 

Dew washed and sun kissed, 
Out of the blue and the gray mist, 
Vision of beauty and rest. 
Shining afar in the West. 
Gently the clouds float by 
Waking the sleeping sky. 
Bathing the hill and glade 
In light of every shade. 

Green land of hope and endeavor 
Whose people are children forever, 
Held by its sway they glide 
Ever a long life's tide, 
Far from life's crowded way 
Dreaming they live today, 
Free in their own wild home 
Washed by the sea's white foam. 

Island so loved by all. 
Who hear its mystic call. 
Enchantment dwells in every bower. 
In tree and leaf and wayside flower. 
All hail to thee! whose magic spell 
Is felt in woodland dale and dell. 
Oh wondrous land! Oh land of rest! 
A green light shining in the West. 



3] 



OH ERIN, MY HOME 

Oh Erin, my home, 
I am coming to thee. 
Across desert and mountain 
And river and sea. 

To the dear Httle cabin 
The place I was born 
Mid the wave of the rye 
And the gleam of the corn. 

Near the wild rugged mountain, 
Where the heather grows free, 
And the wild rose unfettered 
Creeps down to the sea. 

Oh land of the gray mist. 
Of sunshine and rain. 
In thy rapturous beauty 
I see thee again. 

Oh, the breath of the bog land. 
And the smell of the peat. 
And the flowers all gleaming 
Like stars at my feet. 



[4] 



Soon, soon, I'll be with you. 
Then, never to part, 
I shall dream my last dream 
In the land of my heart. 

What a home for a wanderer 
When the storms are past, 
In the green isle of Erin 
There'll be rest at the last. 



[51 



TO THE LAND OF THE HARP 

Though my hair, it is white, 
And my step, it is slow, 
Yet back to the land 
Of my birth I will go. 

Though broken in life 
Like surf on the sea. 
Though tossed by the torrents 
And tempests that be. 

Yet I know I shall stand 

Again on the shore, 

Of the land of the harp 

And the shamrock, once more. 

Back, back to my cabin 
So long I have left, 
That it seems but a ruin 
So lone and bereft. 

Soon, soon what a 
Glorified home it will be; 
What a haven of rest 
For a wanderer like me. 



[6 



And though my time now 
Grows shorter each day 
Fain, fain, would I linger 
Fain, fain, would I stay. 

Just to see but a springtime 
And autumn once more. 
Amid the green hills 
Of the land I adore. 

* * * 

Oh, I hear a voice calling 
Far over the sea. 
And I answer, " I am coming, 
Dear Erin, to thee. " 



F7] 



AN IRISH IMMIGRANT 

I am lonely in the twilight, 
I am lonely in the morn, 
I am thinking of the gray mist 
Of the town where I was born. 

Oh, that Httle Irish village! 
Oh, the smiles that greeted me! 
Oh, those true hearts fondly beating! 
Happiness it was to see. 

How I long again to meet them 
Just once more before I go 
To that land where I shall meet them, 
I am nearing it, I know. 

How I long to see the mountains. 
And the rivers rushing by, 
And the quiet, peaceful valleys. 
Just once more before I die. 

Oh, the little straw thatched cabin 
In the bend behind the hill, 
Is it ruined and forgotten 
Or can it be standing still? 



[8] 



Never more again I'll see it, 
Where I spent my childhood days, 
Wandering by the pleasant river 
And the tangled woody ways. 

Oh, the scent of bog and heather 
And the lichen fresh and green, 
Oh, the sense of rest and freedom, 
In the woodland air so keen. 

Old and tired, bent and worn. 
In another land I'll lie 
But I'll still remember Ireland 
Where I wish that I could die. 

•X- * * 

May its bells of freedom pealing 
Wake me where I lie at rest. 
And its flag once more be floating. 
Flashing green lights in the West. 



9l 



THERE'S A GRAVE IN THE 
GREEN SOD 

I have a message for you 
From a land beyond the sea, 
From the home of the little shamrock, 
The country of the free. 

From the land of your sire 
Where your fathers lie at rest. 
From that green, green little island, 
The Emerald of the West. 

Oh balmy are its breezes 
And gently do they blow. 
And many are the flowers 
That in its woodlands grow. 

No land on earth can ever 
Be fairer in your eyes; 
Think of its glorious sunsets 
And of its morning skies. 

Think of the gray blue mountains 
And of the wandering streams. 
Oh! only shall such beauty 
Return to you in dreams. 



lo] 



Oh Ireland recalls, 

The sons who left her shore, 

Who went away in sadness 

To come back to her once more. 

Oh children of the green sod, 
Of the Celtic ancient race. 
Remember in your native land 
There is for you a place. 

A place with peace and honor 
She will give you with the best, 
A quiet, peaceful, sheltered place 
Wherein your soul can rest. 



[Ill 



I DREAMT AND IN MY DREAMS 

I dreamt, and in my dreams I heard 
Sweet music faint and low, 
It was a song of Ireland, 
A song of long ago. 

I saw once more my dear old home 
With its gables and its towers, 
The dear old fashioned garden 
With all its brilliant flowers. 

Once more I heard the church bells ring 
Through the quiet evening air. 
Once more I sang the vesper hymn, 
Once more I knelt at prayer. 

And then I saw the harvest moon 
Shed forth its lustrous light 
Upon the fields of yellow corn. 
It was a glorious sight. 

Then in the early dawn 
I walked beside the silent stream, 
I saw the blue forget-me-not 
And picked it in my dream. 



[I2l 



I saw the mountains and the hills 
The woodland and the lea, 
And memories of bygone days 
Came rushing over me. 

For Ireland and for freedom 
I felt my pulses glow, 
I saw the patriots of old 
Go forth to meet the foe. 

And when I saw the green flag 
That fluttered in the air, 
I prayed that God would bless it 
And that God would hear my prayer. 

Oh Ireland forever 
Thou art graven on my heart. 
No dream can make thee sweeter 
Or fairer than thou art. 



[13] 



MY CABIN HOME 

I have a little cabin 
That is everything to me — 
Behind it, is a mountain 
Before it, is the sea. 

Around it is the wildness 
Of the Island of the West, 
It is the only home I know, 
The only place of rest. 

As I linger in the doorway 
To see the setting sun, 
My fireside it calls to me 
After the day is done. 

Oh, dear, dear is my cabin 
Beyond all earthly worth, 
I would not, could not, change it now 
For anything on earth. 

And I have traveled far and wide 
O'er many and many a sea 
But nothing now shall ever take 
My cabin home from me. 

God bless the hills of Ireland, 

God bless its heart so true, 

God give me strength and grace to live, 

For many a year with you! 



14] 



HERE ENDS "OH ERIN, MY HOME, AND 
OTHER VERSE" BY F. KELLETT. DONE 
INTO BOOK FORM BY PAUL ELDER AND 
COMPANY AND PRINTED AT THEIR 
TOMOYE PRESS UNDER THE DIREC- 
TION OF HERMAN A. FUNKE IN THE 
CITY OF SAN FRANCISCO DURING THE 
MONTH OF MAY, NINETEEN 
HUNDRED AND SIXTEEN 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
015 908 683 5 '0 












Pi 



lv 



